Consciously Drawing You
by Captain Vox
Summary: Follow up to Psychosomatically Erasing You- Six months after the Doctor's ordeal with Moriarty, John and Sherlock are settling in. But how long can their happy lives continue when a sociopath/psychopath is still on the loose, and with sweet eyes for the two men?
1. Chapter 1

Consciously Drawing You – Follow-up to Psychosomatically Erasing You

((A/N: It's been a while since I've been on here, and since I've watched Sherlock. I've at least seen both series one and two, and besides this is mostly separate from those story lines, but I fear this first chapter may be a bit rusty. Also, forewarning, there are sex scenes between male/male characters, cursing may be common, and there could be "disturbing themes" running through my writing. All of which you should know from having read Psychosomatically Erasing You, which you really must to understand what's going on here… That being said, I'm jumping back in and hope who ever reads enjoys this! Oh, and I no longer have a beta, so I'm trying my best with grammar, British-isms, etc. Any feedback on that will be taken into serious consideration!))

John lay back in bed, staring intently at the ceiling. It was pristine, white, immaculate, and dull. He let his eyes drift around his room; the whole of it was once pristine and dull as well. Now his jumper was sprawled at the foot of the bed, Sherlock's dressing gown was a rumpled pile in front of the wardrobe, and a stack of books sat under the windowsill. Had it really bothered him, John still would not have been able to get up and fix it. A long, pale arm had wrapped itself rather tightly across his thick, compact chest, gripping his side. One leg, soft with little downy hairs, was entangled between John's own legs. Not to mention the lips that were pressed to his neck, murmuring in sleep. All of it kept him quite rooted to the bed, and happily so.

Breathing in deeply, John let everything sink into his being. He had never been more comfortable. Reaching up he ran his fingers through Sherlock's mess of curls, and they slid through the blackness with ease. John thought Sherlock looked so vulnerable when he slept, and John felt a rush of possessiveness run through him.

Sherlock stirred in his sleep, pushing his leg further across John's side of the bed and tilting his head upwards until his nose tucked into the slight length of John's dusty blonde hair. The movement and a rush of breath from Sherlock tickled and John shuddered.

"Whatimest."

A crook of smile lifted John's cheek. He'd gotten used to Sherlock's sleep talk and could make out nearly everything the man said or asked now. "It's a little after nine."

"Mmsex?"

With a roll of his eyes John shifted them both so that he could lay on his side facing Sherlock. They stared into one another's eyes, sharing the one over stuffed pillow contentedly. "You're not awake, Sherlock."

"'Noughferit."

"Enough for it? I don't quite think so." He leaned in and nuzzled against the other man's nose. "Let's just sleep a little longer."

Attention snapped into Sherlock's eyes but he snuggled in and wrapped an arm around John to run his fingers in John's short hair. He started to massage John's scalp and that sent fiery tingles all the way to the Doctor's toes. "You're not sleeping."

John couldn't argue that one. He'd been wide awake for an hour now.

The non-argument coming from John was just enough of a trigger for Sherlock. "Good, knew you'd see it my way."

The man was incessant once he began. At least they were both starting off naked. John wasn't sure he wanted to let Sherlock have a go at another shirt when he was intent on getting it out of his way. The white corded jumper John liked so much ended up with a rip in the front from Sherlock's impatient violin-long fingers.

Sherlock straddled John's hips, clasping his hands around sturdy wrists. It was just tight enough to bring John's focus in sharply on the detective. John shivered. They stared down at one another and Sherlock gave a twisted smirk, as if he were playing with some new experiment. Anytime Sherlock and John made love, that deliciously sociopathic man grinned like this at him and it drew everything tight in John.

John pushed himself upward, seeking the solace of lips but found nothing as Sherlock pulled back. The doctor let out a soft protesting murmur as Sherlock leaned further away, towards the nightstand. Before John could question, a soft silkiness laid itself across John's eyes and he could feel Sherlock's fingers tying the blindfold deftly behind his head, careful not tug the little hairs at the back of his neck. John sunk back and let himself just feel. He could feel soft lips at the hollow of his throat, then a warm tongue swirling across the soft skin. He shivered again, toes curling as fingers threaded then tugged gently at his hair. He felt Sherlock's lanky body, tight with toned muscle, sliding across his own stockier frame. Then John felt warmth and wet on the head of his erection and his head went spinning. John often times enjoyed being Sherlock's new experiment, and this week John was helping him with tongue and teeth techniques. With solid certainty, John could say that Sherlock was a quick learner and had great muscle memory. This time, Sherlock drew out John's pleasure until he was panting and pleading.

"Sher…lock…" John's voice was almost a hiccup of air. His hands were twisted tightly in the sheets. His back arched off of the bed, buttocks tight.

When Sherlock pulled back from John, he could almost feel the man's eyes all over his taut thighs and straining erection. It was maddening. The bed lurched and a weight left it.

John's eyes snapped open and he snatched the blindfold from his eyes and watched Sherlock heading for the door of the bedroom. "If you leave me like this, I'll go back to Afghanistan again."

The dark look the clouded Sherlock's eyes slapped the joking smile from John's face. "Do. Not. Say. That."

Blinking cautiously at him, John remained silent and sat up. "Right, sorry. That was a bit not good, I suppose."

Sherlock moved back to the bed in a panther's stalk. The way his shoulders twitched, he looked like a cat ready to pounce. He moved up the bed so quickly, John didn't have a moment to put any space between them. Sherlock's lips were at John's instantly and he whispered against them. "I'll be back in just a moment." Then he kissed John with a sincere roughness that John could not have doubted him.

The door closed and John laid back down again, getting his breathing back to normal. After a few minutes passed and the erection started to feel uncomfortable, John reached down and gripped himself. He stroked slowly just enough to start relieving some of the built up tension. He started to worry after a couple more minutes passed. "Sherlock!" He called.

Footsteps sounded quickly coming up the stairs and the door opened. Sherlock was glowering and looking around the room. "I'm sorry, I have to handle something." He grabbed clothes and started putting one of his suits on. He was buttoning his shirt before John spoke.

"Where are you going?"

Sherlock looked at John, lips pressed tightly together. "I'm not sure yet. But I'll figure it out."

John sighed deeply, collection his calm again. "Sherlock, what are you doing or who are you meeting?"

"Whom."

"What?"

" 'Whom' am I meeting. I assume it's Moriarty."

Erection suddenly forgotten, John was out of the bed in seconds. "Excuse me? I'd like you to run that last bit by me just one more time."

The flat look Sherlock was giving John did not help his suddenly frazzled nerves. "I said Moriarty, John. It's just a name."

"No, Sherlock, no it is not _just_ a name. After everything that happened six months ago, you toss that out so casually?" John was furious, burning up from the inside out. He stepped up to Sherlock, grabbing his suit jacket as the detective tried to put it on. "I don't see how you think you are just going to walk out that door and meet that man."

"Simply by walking, John. Don't be stupid."

"Me? You want me not to be stupid when you're about to run out and meet a psychopath?"

"Probably a sociopath, like myself." Sherlock brushed John's hands away from his clothes. He started for the door.

"No again, Sherlock. He's not like you. He's different, and I'm not letting you walk out there after him." John placed himself between Sherlock and the bedroom door. "Stop and listen to me for a moment."

Sherlock did stop, walking that is, and tumbled right into speaking without allowing John a pause for air. "John, you listen to me. I let you go tramping off to play war, he stole you from me, and now he's been playing games again. I've let him strap a bomb to you and cut you open, I'm not letting a single further thing happen to you. You are mine," Sherlock's eyes were churning embers, silver flashing like lightening. "Mine, and I'll not let another lay their filthy hands on you."

John was so complete stunned by Sherlock's words that the detective easily brushed the doctor aside and left the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N- Mild Spoilers for all episodes…Sorry all about the long update time; I had a few pages of this written before, then hated it and trashed it. This is the new version…hope you enjoy. Also, thank you so much to everyone who has followed/favorited myself or the story! And, I have used Fahrenheit here because none of the websites could agree on whether to use Celsius or Fahrenheit when it's warm out… anyone British with an answer for the poor American, I'd appreciate the information!)

Sherlock opened the door to 221B and stepped out. He glanced up at the window and saw John peering down at him. Turning away quickly before he decided to walk back into the flat and finish what he'd started, Sherlock headed for the curb and flagged down a taxi. He climbed in and heard his mobile beep at him, one high-pitched tone that strained on his ears in the silence of the car. He pulled it from his pocket and stared down at John's text.

_You're being unfair… I can't lose you either._

Sherlock swallowed hard and clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ticked. He put it away, unanswered. If anyone could convince Sherlock to do or not do something, it was John Hamish Watson. He could not afford to be swayed from this task.

"Curzon Gate of Hyde Park, please." Sherlock glanced through to the front, taking in the cabbie's feminine features and assuring himself he wasn't climbing into the car of a madman… again. He thought at times, perhaps a car would do him some good.

The woman pulled out in the main traffic and headed for the park. It was ten minutes in the moderate traffic and Sherlock's mobile rang out three further times. He didn't bother picking it up. The cab pulled up to the curb, and Sherlock handed the woman a fold of cash before stepping out. With the sun shining down, it was quite warm, perhaps edging towards the 70s. He unbuttoned his jacket and unhooked the blue scarf, leaving his shirt open to the sunlight. Eyes squinting he peered into the park, lightly scattered with people. Moriarty wasn't in this crowd. They were supposed to meet at the 7 July Memorial. Sherlock had a feeling Moriarty had a hand in that having to be raised.

Strolling through the park, Sherlock came to the thin white pillars, jutting up to the sky. He stood before them, reading the bombing times and locations listed on them. After a few minutes, he wasn't reading those pillars any longer; he was watching around him carefully, waiting for _him_ to show up. Except Moriarty wasn't anywhere to be found. Sherlock glanced at his watch. It had only been fifteen minutes in total since staring up at John in the window.

Damn.

How easily Sherlock's mind went to his Doctor. Oh yes, John was _his_. Not a live-in-normal, not a skull on the mantle, but something all together new and enthralling. Sure, Sherlock had had relationships before, but they had never been anything quite like this. He had never run off to a park, with his partner's gun tucked into his waistband, ready to give it all for one person. Any other time, for any other person, he'd be buggered to get the milk down at the corner store.

John surprised him. Sherlock could read everything about everyone, but not necessarily so with John. He had been more than shocked when the gunshot rang out as the poison vile touched his fingers. He had nearly had a heart attack when John stepped into the pool area bundled in the Parka. And Sherlock had felt his world come crashing down on him when John had told him he was going back to Afghanistan over a year ago now.

Damn it.

There were three people in the world that knew of Sherlock's heart, besides Sherlock. Moriarty had threatened to burn it, Mycroft had told him he didn't have one, and John… Well, John _was_ it and knew it. Sherlock had been careful since his return to make sure he knew it. He would have to remember to get the milk and beans before going back.

John was in his head now and not easily removed. Sherlock noticed too late Jim standing before him, at the other side of the white pillars. Stuffing the ends of his scarf through the loop at the other end, he pulled it tight and started for the man, trying to keep his face from showing his shock at the sudden yank from his thoughts.

John would be upset with him. John was upset with him. Sherlock shouldn't be here. He'd nearly lost his John twice now, and he was going to finish this.

"James Moriarty."

"I wasn't sure you'd show, Sherlock. I thought for sure your little soldier would have kept you." Jim tucked his hands into his pockets, tilting up to his toes towards Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled tightly and leaned back a little. "I have no keeper."

They stared for long moments, assessing one another in the eerily quiet manner John often found uncomfortable. Sherlock and Moriarty thrived on it.

It was dangerous, having the beautiful blonde locked in the front of Sherlock's mind.

Damn it all.

Moriarty crooked a grin showing off those pearly white points. "I think we both know better than that, Sherlock…" He drew out the consulting detective's name in the endearing way of his.

Sherlock's face nearly fell, his eyes narrowing. "I will only tell you once, Jim. Back off."

A laugh escaped Moriarty. "Now who is showing their hand?"

"It will be more than my hand I show if you continue to fuck with John Watson," Sherlock snarled, a deep wolfish noise from the depths of his chest. He leaned close to Moriarty's ear. "I will _burn_ all that is your being, now that I more than just a glimpse of your world."

"I've told you, you'll never get to me." Moriarty shook a finger back and forth between them.

A smile spread across Sherlock's face, but it wasn't happy. It was dark. "I'm standing right in front of you."

"Oh come, don't be so dull. You won't touch me." He took a step even closer, proving some point.

The gun cocked between them, edging into Moriarty's gut. "Please, show me that look of surprise…"


End file.
